The Italian's Seduction Read online

Oh, God, this was against all her rules. This was not supposed to be happening. She was supposed to stand on her own two feet and call the shots in this New Chapter of her life.

  Charli stared at him. “You can’t just…I mean, you don’t even know me!”

  Valentina rolled her eyes. “You don’t look like you’re going to steal the silver.” She grinned. “Isn’t that how you say that? Not that I’d care, you know. I don’t care for the stupid silver. Come on, it will be fun, and you can help me with my English!”

  It didn’t sound as if she needed much help in that department at all.

  “You’re very nice, but really, I can’t possibly—”

  “Yes, you can,” Massimo interrupted her, his tone brooking no denial. “There’s no other place to go right now. Tomorrow you can go to the notaio and handle the situation.” Without further ado he took her elbow and steered her toward the archway, out onto the street again.

  And against all her new rules of independent living, of making her own decisions, Charli let him. The first crisis in the New Chapter of her life, and a man was taking charge of her again.

  A stranger, no less.

  A sexy Italian with dangerous glints in his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WAS like something out of a movie, this whole crazy situation. Picked off the street by a wealthy Italian, she was now here in this luxurious villa in a room with a view of the Mediterranean. A gorgeous room with its own bathroom, complete with a bidet. All elegant misty-green marble and shiny designer fixtures and thick lush towels in the palest jade-green. Even designer toiletries were available for the guest.

  Charli tried to shake an odd sense of unreality. This was not as she had imagined it. Her life had been so ordinary, so safe, and now suddenly it was no longer ordinary, and no longer…safe? She felt off-balance and uncertain.

  “Will you be okay?” Valentina asked, lounging against the doorjamb, apparently not eager to leave.

  Charli glanced around, wondering if there might be a way she would not be physically comfortable in this spacious room with its lovely furnishings and huge luxurious bed with its silk cover. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”

  “My room is the one across the hall.” Valentina pointed. “If you need anything, just knock.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  “Oh, and dinner’s at eight-thirty, on the terrace.”

  The girl departed and Charli stripped off her damp clothes and took a shower in the sumptuous bathroom. It had been a hot, exhausting day and it was heavenly to feel the water stream over her hot, sticky body. She took her time and felt her fatigue wash away, felt quite revived actually when she finally turned off the taps.

  Her wet hair wrapped in a soft green towel and her body in another, she searched through her suitcases, wondering what to wear. She thought about Massimo, tried saying the name out loud, the way his sister had with the stress on the first syllable. Massimo. She liked the sound of it. Strong and manly, yet very romantic.

  “Massimo,” she said again, and in her mind she saw the handsome face, that athletic body in the sporty clothes. Despite his attitude of cool control, she’d seen the gleam of something else in his dark eyes.

  She felt a little shiver go down her spine. Did the man have to be so disturbingly…male?

  She didn’t need this. She didn’t want anything to do with men for a while. Yet there was no denying the electricity that had sparked between them. And she knew that Mr Italy, in spite of his polite manner, had been quite aware of it. He had said or done nothing to make her feel that way. He’d simply helped her by guiding her to the apartment and later he’d generously rescued her from sleeping on the steps of the Duomo by inviting her to stay the night at his villa. That was all.

  She stared at the blue top in her hands and tossed it aside. A suitcase full of clothes, and still she wasn’t sure what to wear. She couldn’t believe what had happened to her. There’d been no way to refuse; Signor Castellini had simply taken charge, marched the three of them back to the marina parking lot and ordered her to follow him in her rental car, after first telling Valentina to ride with her in case she lost him in the narrow streets. Which, of course, she had done promptly.

  She wiped away a drop of water trickling down her cheek. Okay, sure, she was happy she had a bed to sleep in, but she was disturbed by this situation, her lack of control, her need to be rescued by a man. It was an unbearable thought. She’d escaped the clutches of one control freak only to land right in the house of another.

  Massimo Castellini knew how to take charge and had no qualms about doing so, that was obvious.

  And she hadn’t known what else to do but obey—more or less. She’d had no choice, had she? She took the towel off her head and rubbed her hair with more force than necessary, muttering curses under her breath.

  Well, right now she had to get ready for dinner and see if she could rescue some of her pride and self-confidence. Somehow she had to present herself as more in control of herself and her destiny, give a confident impression.

  She glanced at the mirror and sighed. She was cursed with those baby doll looks. Big blue eyes, looking all helpless and vulnerable. She was twenty-six and could pass for eighteen, certainly in jeans and a T-shirt. A few months ago she’d cut her long hair short, hoping it would give her a more mature look. She wasn’t sure it had. Richard had been furious—Rick demanded to be called Richard, which was more sophisticated in his opinion. She often forgot, much to his displeasure.

  It had been Richard’s fury over her hair that had finally made her admit to herself that things were not as they should be between them. She’d been a coward for too long. Not that she hadn’t been warned. Bree, her best friend, didn’t like Rick—Richard, had always called him Control Freak Ricky, but Charli had been in denial. That was over now. The lights had gone on in her head and it was all very clear to her now. She let out a sigh and surveyed her appearance in the mirror. Now she had to get rid of the girlish look.

  She needed makeup, for sure. And she should act more sophisticated, with more confidence. And wear her skimpy emerald-green dress. She reached into her suitcase and fished it out. Holding it out in front of her, she glanced in the mirror again. Maybe it was a bit too skimpy for the occasion. Didn’t want to give the man any wrong ideas.

  Instead, she selected white dress pants and a black silk shirt. Then she worked on her face, applying more eye shadow and more mascara than normal, and painting her lips a deep, shimmering red. As she examined herself in the mirror, Richard’s disapproving face flashed through her mind. A groan of frustration escaped her. When were these flashbacks going to stop?

  She could wear whatever she liked. Control Freak Ricky was history. His approval or disapproval of the clothes she wore, the length of her hair and the things she said no longer mattered.

  And certainly Mr Castellini’s opinion didn’t matter.

  Except she did not want to appear helpless and vulnerable, even though the truth was, of course, that she was quite helpless and vulnerable at this exact moment.

  She straightened her shoulders. Well, it was only for one night. Surely she could manage for one night?

  Massimo stood on the terrace and stared out over the town below, which was glittering like a jewel in the darkness. He loved coming here. He’d grown up in this house, in this town, and it brought back happy childhood memories. He enjoyed being here because it was relaxing and gave him a place away from the frenetic pace of his Rome existence.

  But he did not feel relaxed now.

  Damn Valentina for inviting that woman home with them! He deserved his peace and quiet. He’d listened to Valentina’s teenage chatter all bloody day on the boat and now here was this perky blonde who probably didn’t have much for a brain going by the events of this afternoon. No key, no hotel reservation. He took a deep swallow of wine but it did nothing to calm his annoyance.

  After a day on the water he’d hoped for a quiet evening at home, and now he was forced to en
tertain this sexy blonde, as if Valentina wasn’t enough of a drain on his energies. This woman wasn’t an insipid wallflower, easily ignored, or likely to ignore him, for that matter. Not many women did ignore him—a matter of record rather than of shallow male pride.

  His cellphone rang. He fished it out of his pocket to find a woman on the line, as if to prove his point. Somehow they always knew where to find him.

  “Hello, Elena,” he said politely, feeling a bit guilty for not being more enthusiastic.

  “Massimo,” she sang, “the rumor goes you’re back!”

  “I’ve been back in the country for a week, yes.” After a few days of organizing his work at the office in Rome, he’d collected Valentina from school and driven south to the Campania coast. Mimma had already opened up the house and he’d been more than ready for a little relaxation after his exhausting foreign travels. In the villa he could work from his comfortable home office and still have the opportunity to spend time with Valentina, as he did every year. Although Valentina spent most of the year at boarding school in Rome, this was her home too. There were many ways to keep a teenager entertained during the school holidays—interesting camps and foreign trips abounded but, with their parents gone, he thought it was important for her to feel there was a home to go to and family to spend time with her, to give her a sense of having roots.

  “Haven’t seen you for ages and ages,” Elena said. “What Godforsaken corner of the globe did you honor with your presence this time?”

  “India and Mozambique. Lots of gods. Not so forsaken.”

  “How exotic! I’d love to hear all about it. Let’s have dinner tomorrow, shall we?”

  Her interest was not faked, he knew. As an architect, Elena actually had some understanding of the restoration work his company was involved with, was interested in the projects they undertook renovating historic buildings the world over.

  She was also interested in him as husband material and, since he was not inclined to be a husband, he’d been avoiding her.

  Fortunately, her dinner invitation was easily declined.

  “I’m not in Rome, Elena. Valentina is out of school for the summer and—”

  “Oh, of course. You’re at the villa. How is she?” Elena sounded polite. She was not really interested in how Valentina was, he was sure.

  “Bene,” he said. “We’ve been sailing. She’s pretty good, actually.”

  “You’re such a good brother, Massimo. I admire you.”

  The flattery annoyed him, and he made some casual response and terminated the conversation. He couldn’t imagine what there was to admire about a man taking care of his little sister. It wasn’t charity or duty, it was natural to do so. It was what he wanted to do, of course. It was his mission in life to get her well-educated, to teach her good moral values—honesty, loyalty, integrity. She might be the only virtuous woman outside the convents, but by God he was going to try. He loved Valentina and he wanted only the best for her. Not that she necessarily appreciated this, but then she was a teenager.

  He’d been a teenager once himself, and he suddenly grinned at the memories. He’d driven his poor parents to distraction. Not such a nice boy he’d been.

  He took another swallow of wine and stared out over the sparkling town and the sea beyond. Years ago he’d wondered at times if he’d be a good father, but it was a moot point now and the thought seldom occurred to him these days. For a moment Giulia’s face flashed through his mind. Red hair, green eyes, a laughing mouth. The pain and anger of loss still stabbed him at times, but that too was dimming as the years passed. What wasn’t dimming was his conviction that he would not marry again. He could not imagine living with another woman—loving, trusting, laughing, sharing his soul. Not again.

  His mind produced a sun-filled image of a blue-eyed woman with shimmering blond curls, and a disturbing restlessness crept through his blood. Ridiculous!

  The cool sea breeze whipped the hair over his forehead and impatiently he pushed it back with his hand.

  I should not have brought her home, he thought for the umpteenth time.

  Well, what the hell should he have done then? Dropped her off at her rental car near the marina and told her goodbye? Let her fend for herself when he knew damn well there wasn’t a bed to be found in town?

  And then, of course, Valentina had to open her mouth and invite her.

  Charli Olson wasn’t his responsibility, but there she was, all blue-eyed blond helplessness without a key.

  And who did he think he was fooling? He finished his wine and grimaced at the moon above. He’d invited her because he’d wanted to invite her. All that very blue-eyed blond helplessness had gone straight to his miserable heart.

  She hadn’t wanted to accept, he’d seen the resistance in her expression—her pride doing battle with her common sense. He’d also seen the flash of panic in those big eyes and he had almost felt sorry for her. She’d accepted because she’d realized she’d had no alternative.

  Well, it was only for one night. Tomorrow she’d get the key from the Bernardini office and sleep in her own place. Woman gone. Problem over.

  Something niggled at him. He remembered looking at the letter she’d given him with the directions to the apartment. It had been a perfectly ordinary letter, but something about it had triggered a faint ripple of concern. He stared into his empty glass and frowned, but for the world of it he couldn’t think why.

  It looked like a movie set—the handsome man standing on the terrace overlooking the town with its sparkling lights and the sea beyond, a full moon above glimmering the water. He stood by the stone wall on the far end, glass in hand, wearing dark trousers and a white shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up. He looked as if he belonged in a movie with his dark good looks. Charli had the eerie feeling that she was somehow living a movie, or a dream. As if this wasn’t quite real.

  She was nervously aware of his eyes as he looked at her. It annoyed her that she was so self-conscious about it. Why couldn’t she be cool and collected?

  It would take time to get over the feeling that she was forever being judged and assessed. How could she have put up with it for two whole years? It was scary to think that she had been such a doormat for so long.

  But not anymore. She was a free woman now. Free to do as she pleased, free to speak her mind.

  So why was her pulse jumping?

  “Buona sera,” he said. “May I pour you a drink?”

  “Buona sera,” she repeated bravely. “A glass of white wine, please.”

  A movable cart full of bottles and bar necessities stood at the ready. A table was set for three, a candle in a cut glass globe throwing intimate shadows over the gleaming cutlery and shimmering wineglasses. Several more candles were lit on a low table on the other side of the large terrace.

  He held up a bottle, already open. “A local specialty,” he said, giving the long musical name she couldn’t understand, so she looked at the label to read it. Falanghina del Beneventano, it said.

  He poured her a glass and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip. The wine was cool and refreshing with a fruity flavor.

  He watched her, waiting for a response.

  “I like it.” Not the most sophisticated of responses, she was well aware.

  “Good.” Humor glinted in his eyes.

  “Sorry, I’m not much of a wine expert. I don’t know the lingo.”

  “‘I like it’ will do. You don’t need lingo to enjoy it.”

  She thought of Richard, who had known all the lingo, who’d pored over books and magazines, analyzed wine labels and discussed wine with friends as if it were an issue of supreme importance, like human cloning, or cancer research.

  She took another sip and glanced at the glittering panorama in front of her. “What a gorgeous view.” She pointed in the distance. “What is that stone structure sitting on the edge of the rocks near the water? Some kind of watchtower?”

  “Indeed. There are many
of them along the coast here, some dating back as far as the ninth century. The Normans built a number of them too, to watch for various invaders and pirates and other unfriendly sorts.”

  “The Normans were here?”

  He gave a laugh. “Everybody was here—Greeks, Etruscans, Romans, Saracens, Normans, Turks.” He paused. “Americans.”

  It took a second. “Oh, yes, of course. The Second World War.”

  “They landed not far from here, farther down the coast.”

  In the distance the sea sparkled in the moonlight. The scent of jasmine wafted around her.

  “How is your room? You have everything you need?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful. This is a beautiful house.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, we don’t spend much time here.”

  “You don’t live here?”

  “Only in the summer for a while, when Valentina is out of school. It used to be my parents’ house. We both grew up here.”

  “And where do you live now?”

  “In Rome, but I travel often, and Valentina is at a boarding school. But I assume my talkative sister has already told you all this.”

  “Not that you didn’t live here. She said you travelled a lot. I must have missed the part where she said you lived in Rome.” Valentina had chattered all the way to the villa. Their parents had died when she was ten and now big brother was taking care of her upbringing. She’d sounded a bit wistful, as if it wasn’t all fun and games.

  He took a drink and observed her. “What are you going to do with your grandmother’s apartment—if I may ask?”

  “I was thinking I’d stay for a while, a couple of months anyway.” She’d have to be back home in the fall for her parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary, but until then she could stay. “I’d like to see what it’s like here. I was thinking of fixing it up if it needed work and maybe rent it out as a vacation place later.”

  And, of course, she could sell it, but the idea of owning a place in Italy appealed to her. Her friends had all been enthusiastic, planning trips already.